November 7
by death-in-the-orchard
Summary: Abraham Van Helsing's journal entries...the truth of the end of the story of Dracula...fanfiction for the book Dracula rather than Hellsing...could not find the title on the list


In memory of the 6th of November

Abraham van Helsing's Journal, 7 November

There are horrors that cannot be put into words. There are agonies that cannot be described for their pain. That is what I must attempt now. To describe the horror and the agony, both of which led Jonathon Harker to lose his mind, writing a lie he believes to be truth in his diary which we extracted and compiled into a booklet with the other's diaries, which he continued out of habit so that I may read it. Mina Harker is now gone from the world. Her eyes are closed and her face is hidden behind a white sheet, and, God, the mark has yet to fade from her forehead. Her soul…could not be saved. (Here a few stray tears blot the page, causing some of the ink to run) The Count, the Vampire, refused to die. But, no, I shan't go into his part in this, I shall use my will to tell of the others before him.

Jonathon fell into a stupor so suddenly after he stabbed the Count, that it found us unprepared for the possibility of what was fated to happen. The sun set just then, and the Count rose as a pirouetting pillar of dust, up out of his box of earth. The knife had fallen from his heart and his neck was whole! He saw us, that he was surrounded, and gave such a laugh that my chilled body somehow found some way to grow colder. The snow was falling with more momentum now, and I curse my eyes that they found an eerie beauty in the flakes that caught the light of the moon. They glanced off the Vampire, shining like his bared fangs. He did not move, instead, what was a shadow for several moments in my mind, unable to accept what had happened, Jonathon, for the shadow was him, took up the knife he had sharpened to plunge into the neck and heart of the Count and used it to stab out the life of Mina. Madam Mina's eyes were the widest, out of near all of us, as Quincey lay dead from his wound. She fell silently into her husband's arms. I shudder at the memory and so have observed that my hand is not steady as I write this.

Jonathon swayed and fell, without bringing madam Mina as she stood still, like a weeping angel, she glowed white and the scar from the host on her forehead burned with a hellish fire. She opened her eyes which glowed red, like the Count's, and she smiled at me, myself being the nearest to her, and held out her arms towards me. My eyes burned, but I was cold, frozen in place, chained by the agony of despair. Then, for the second time, John saved this withered life. He shot the poor dead lady in the head. When I saw his face, it was just as it had been when we had plunged the stake into our dear Lucy. It was cold, and full of loathing. I will never speak a word of it, but it pained me greatly to see such an expression given to our Mina. He then shortly came to us and took the golden cross I had bestowed on each of our company, and thrust it in her face whilst he turn to me with such a tacit look that he need not have spoken. The Vampire that our Mina had become, screeched and backed away, not seeing as I handed John a stake from the bag by my feet. He lunged forward and drove the sharpened point into her unbeating heart. Her face calmed suddenly, eased from pain, and she fell, a plain corpse, into the gathering snow.

All the while, the Count had watched, his face a mask which no man could see past. Arthur had fallen to his knees and was useless now, all strength gone from his eyes. John had been the one to fulfill madam Mina's request. God bless him that he should not see it as his sin. The sin falls to the hands of the devil and his children, such as the Vampire who watched us silently. His face did not change until John had aligned the barrel of his gun with the Count's face. Then a creeping grin stole over his features, and he waited for John to fire. No matter how many bullets ripped into the Vampire, he did not dust as his wives had. But neither did he attack. I was surprised to find that he had no reason left to be here, except that he did not know of the fate of the women or that we had made it so that he could never enter his castle again, with the holy wafers which now ran low in number.

I told John to stop then, with this thought, and it became deathly silent in the absence of the gunshots. He stopped, though I saw that he would have continued, given the chance, and I wondered of his thoughts behind the cool expression. What he felt was as mysterious as with the Count, who stood, unharmed, without even the scar on his brow, before us. The snow would not catch in his ebony hair, that I cannot forget, nor the red eyes weighed with knowledge but free from death. I almost gasped at the notion of immortality, but cast aside the thought. I spoke to him, and it was a miracle that I could do so in such a strong, sure way, for I felt none of these now. The winter was taking me.

"What will you do, Count?" My eyes did not blink when set against his red ones. "The girl has lost her life, become the undead, and died again and you have done nothing. Your wives are just as she, though they are dust in their coffins." He made no expression so I continued. "You are cast from your domain by the power of our Holy Lord and we cannot kill you, for your existence will not die for all the curses in Man's heart or the justice in our minds. You stand with nothing. Your existence is a sham, so I wonder…what shall you do?"

His head cocked to the side and his child brain must have been at work for his eyes were at mine yet did not see them. He faded into his swirling dust and left us. The snow fell harder and the gale moaned and gripped our garments, whipping poor madam Mina's hair in such a fury. He gave us no choice but to take refuge in his castle. What the Vampire was scheming, I have no idea, as it is now mid morning. The bodies of our friends rest. Mina Harker's is on the bed which her husband had slept through the course of his imprisonment here. For our friend Quincey, we found another bed and dusted it off the best we could, John and I for Arthur was still useless and when Jonathon woke he flew to his journal and wrote such a sad set of lies that I know he is lost. John looked at him with compassion and hid tears as he saw the man go to his wife and rest his head on the side of the bed, speaking to the dead.

We said prayers over them and over ourselves, as we yet need strength to endure. Arthur is in a fitful sleep still, as the sun is high, and a sheen of sweat coats his worn face. Jonathon's hair appears even more grey than before and he has not been parted with his dead wife. John advised that we should let him indulge as we are in no position to control him if he were to have a mental breakdown and perhaps become violent. John, though he is yet to be 30, looks twice the number. I have just bid him to sleep, as I know he hath not since the night before this fateful one. He is trying, but I doubt his success.

For myself, I have much to think of, regarding how we will make our journey home, for I fear, we have lost the Count for our lifetimes.

Abraham Van Helsing


End file.
